


Synergy: The Training Days

by bttrmllw



Series: Synergy-verse [3]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mulan (1998) Fusion, F/M, Friendship, Light-Hearted, Mulan (1998) References, Secret Identity, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:56:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28985223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bttrmllw/pseuds/bttrmllw
Summary: AU. Mulan-inspired. In which Haruno Sakura poses as a man to join the ranks of the Konoha army and General Uchiha Sasuke is (still) very, very confused. One-shots of scenes that did not make it intoSynergy:) because we can’t get enough of a confused and frustrated General Uchiha.(ch 3–wherein the squad plays shirts vs skins capture the flag.)“‘Skins’.”She falters. “I’m sorry, what?”Sasuke’s stare burns hotter than the high-noon sun. “You’re ‘skins’.”
Relationships: Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Sasuke
Series: Synergy-verse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2117334
Comments: 28
Kudos: 47





	1. Her first dip

**Author's Note:**

> Hello you wonderful readers, you (: This one-shot series takes place within the Synergy-verse. You can read them even if you haven’t read Synergy, all you need to know is Sakura is pretending to be a guy in Sasuke’s platoon so I mean. /shrugs.
> 
> If you want more context then it might be a good idea to go ahead and read Synergy (at least through chapter 4 as these scenes take place somewhere between chapters 4 and 5). You do you. Every chapter will be from a time when Haruno Sakura is still Haruno Seiko. Ready? Here we go~

.

.

The water is mercifully cool, a welcome change from the heat and sweat accumulated from two days of travel.

Sakura stares up at the star-splattered sky, breathing in the crisp twilight air. Over the jutting cliffside, she can see a fringe of gold. Soon the skies will blush—a bombardment of oranges and reds—but not just yet.

Cicadas chirp, fill the night with song. The scent of campfire smoke merges with pine and soil. 

She closes her eyes and sinks into the waters, deeper into the abyss where no light can reach her, where none are privy to secrets both obvious and discreet (not even herself).

Days of marching conclude upon reaching Uchiha Base 4. 

When they arrive, her compatriots clamor to jump into the lake to wash up. They sprint off the docks to see who could jump the farthest, make the biggest splash, and otherwise shove each other into the water. ( _Men,_ the medic inwardly groans, resisting the urge to slap her forehead. She ignores the fact that a certain general does not join in.)

Sakura, of course, claims that she has other things to tend to (earning odd looks from her comrades because _what in the world could Haruno have going on?_ ) and disappears into her tent.

Now, at the ungodly hour when the sun and moon are on the brink of existing together, she slips into the water and _relishes_ the privacy, the quiet. In her solitude she allows herself a moment of selfishness and thinks about things that she has been keeping under strict lock and key: Uchiha Sasuke.

_Something_ twinges in her gut at the thought of him. Sakura has spent hours attempting to dissect this and has only come to one conclusion: _she has a crush on her general_. (And in light of this realization Haruno Sakura resolves to pray to a more benevolent god, one who might take pity on her because _seriously?_ This is so unfair.)

The night he appeared at her tent, his signature _loomed_ , menacing, determined to discover just _why_ her chakra had pulsed. 

_(“Have you ever heard of knocking?”_

_“It’s my camp, I can enter any tent whenever I want.”)_

She can recall with maddening clarity the way his fingertips seared against her wrist when he stopped her prodding, the way he stared into her eyes as if flipping through the pages of a book in desperate search for an answer to a question he never asked. 

The medic inwardly groans—she had _shrieked_ at his sudden intrusion and he, mercifully, stepped away and let the tent flap close. It happened a few nights prior but the memory of his proximity, his _intensity_ remains—a ghost, haunting and disorienting.

On the trek from the training barracks to their current base she could have sworn he eyed her suspiciously. 

_(“Is it just me or down Haruno have a nice—?”)_

Suigetsu was silenced before he could finish his question, but she wonders every second of every hour _what_ the fanged shinobi was going to say. And why Sasuke so effectively shut it down.

Sakura huffs, blows bubbles along the water’s surface. She has it difficult enough pretending at being a man just to be in this squad for the _opportunity_ to infiltrate the Sound Base. In hindsight, this brilliant plan she and Shizune concocted has too many variables and moving parts and _what-ifs_ to be a reasonable solution at all.

_But they are desperate_.

Tsuande’s pale face comes to mind and the medic sighs, dips her head back and runs her hands over her choppy hair, slicking it back from her face. With a kick of her foot she propels through the lake, soaking in the moonlight, the starlight, the first rays of a tepid dawn.

_She_ _is desperate_ and for her mentor she will do whatever it takes. Sakura repeats this to herself: a mantra, a prayer, a curse.

Anything to keep her going, she convinces herself, floating on her back. Her body lingers just below the surface, her face the only part of her visible through the dark waters.

There really is something ethereal about this time of day, she thinks, eyes scanning the camp.

The tents are quiet, the entire base cast in shades of blue. In the deepest of night it is difficult to make out where the lake ends and the land begins. The dock is the darkest shade, the precarious stilts coming out of the water stark against the backdrop of moon-flecked land. Or rather, the man standing on the docks is darkest, swathed in velvet purples—

Sakura rights herself, legs splashing as she does so. Green eyes squint through the shadows. Yes, that is most certainly a figure standing on the docks. 

A flash of red (sudden, a fleeting warning or perhaps simply curiosity) tells her exactly who it is. Her stomach _drops._

To her horror he slips off his sandals, discards his _juban_ and pants, and dips into the lake. (From this distance Sakura cannot see any details, only the moonlight reflecting off his form, alluring and hypnotic, the set of his shoulders, the cut of his waist and— _Stop it_ , she mentally chides.)

Sakura immediately heads for shore.

“Done already?” the general murmurs as she passes him by. 

Despite the wide berth she allows between them, her body heats at his attention. He treads water as if he has done so all his life, and perhaps he has. His eyes are closed, dark hair plastered to his neck. It truly is unfair how the angles and planes of his face are a thousand times more stunning than the silhouette of the mountainside against a burgeoning dawn.

Sakura swallows water. Coughs.

Sasuke cants his head in her direction. His eyes (mercifully without the Sharingan) pin her to her spot, a peaceful frown on his face. “Are you okay?” he inquires (Is that amusement she detects in the spaces where his voice lilts beneath a baritone a timbre?) as he makes a move to presumably help her.

“Fine!” the rosehead squeaks, waving her hands to push further away.

His frown deepens but he retracts his arm. “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” the Uchiha begins.

Sakura cuts him off with a gesture he cannot see beneath the water’s surface. “No, no it’s fine. You didn’t. I—“

Sasuke moves closer, as graceful in the lake as he is on land and how utterly frustrating is that? (And distracting, the medic can’t help but acknowledge because Uchiha Sasuke has been training all his life and that fact is showcased by the tautness of his muscles, the strength in his shoulders _and she really needs to get the hell out of the water now.)_

“—was just getting out.”

Beads of water trail from his forehead along the shape of his brow, the curve of his cheek, the sharpness of his jaw, down the column of his throat.

“You weren’t—aren’t—disturbing me—” (The warmth spreading through her says otherwise.)

His hand reaches forward and Sakura

can’t

breathe.

She freezes, shuts her eyes.

His fingers graze her temple.

A beat passes. 

Verdant eyes open to see the Uchiha holding out a length of what must be seaweed. 

Sakura blinks. “Uh, thanks,” she whispers, voice fraying from nerves. She clears her throat and affects a deeper tone. “Well, I was just about done. Enjoy your swim, General Uchiha.”

Sasuke remains silent when she maneuvers around him, as frustratingly stoic as ever.

She does not look back, ensuring to remain below the surface even when she grasps the edge of the docks, blindly searching for the towel she left there. With some effort, she wraps it around herself before sloshing across the shore.

Sakura only allows herself to breathe when she reaches the confines of her tent. Dripping wet, she falls onto her bedroll, buries her face into her pillow and lets out a muffled scream.

She does not hear Uchiha Sasuke’s muttered _The hell was I thinking?_ and ensuing splash of frustration.

  
  
  


Behind the cliffside, the sun rises before the moon sets and the skies burst with colors that chase away the stars.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> couple of things:
> 
> \- This will not be the only bath scene (; I have a few chapters in mind so far but if anyone’s got any particular scenes/ideas they’d like me to explore, go ahead and let me know! I will also be including Sasuke’s point of view for this Twilight scene, so stay tuned for that~
> 
> \- Is the timeframe this takes place in obvious? Is it clear what memory Sakura is referring to?


	2. Out of his hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a million thanks to Agentxyz for beta-ing (:
> 
> this update is the previous encounter but in sasuke’s pov. i probably won’t do the entire series switching povs regarding the same situation, (i will jump between sasuke and sakuras povs in general, however). i just couldn’t resist this scenario xD
> 
> hope you enjoy!

.

.

Uchiha Sasuke is not superstitious.

He does not sleep with scissors beneath his pillow, does not worry about combs breaking. He has no qualms with facing his bedroll north, and had he been the sort of person to whistle he would not avoid doing so at night. (Uchiha Sasuke has only ever whistled once, when he was four years old and learning a tune from his mother. He has not whistled since her passing.)

Uchiha Sasuke is not superstitious, nor does he believe in signs from the universe so he does not read into the fact that Haruno Seiko is out there when he seeks solace from the confines of his tent.

It is not uncommon for sleep to elude him—he is a general, green in his title with much to prove as the son of General Fugaku, as the younger brother to General Itachi. 

He wants to please his father, needs to live up to his family name.

His blood crackles through his veins, reminds him of _who he is_. Absently he is aware it is summer and the nights are warm. But _this_ heat comes from within him, deep in his diaphragm where Uchiha fire burns.

Sasuke has suffered from insomnia since his mother’s passing and often releases his stress in the darkest of night when his only audience is the silvery moon.

Which is why he is out on the docks, demanding the moon to continue to keep his secrets.

How is he supposed to know someone else would be awake?

He pretends to be unsure of who it is, calls his Sharingan to the surface, but _of course_ he knows. (The lazy chakra that hums in bliss can only belong to one person.) Uchiha Sasuke would be damned to admit to himself that he comes out despite being completely aware that _Haruno_ is out there.

So he stands on the wooden platform, traces the silhouette of his chuunin ( _Not_ his _chuunin,_ his mind rebukes, _a chuunin of Squad 47)_ in the water. 

He should go.

Sasuke steps out of his sandals.

Really, he should go.

He sheds his _juban._

His hands pause at the hem of his pants (It’s just Haruno. Why should he hesitate?) before tugging them down. 

The night air _should_ cool him but he feels fire spread, the Uchiha flames licking a path from his chest to his navel, to his neck, and he dips into the water before the fire can spread to _other areas_ that might make the whole scenario that much more uncomfortable.

Perhaps this is a bad idea (terrible, he has no clue what comes over him, he does not need a bath, his entire intention to come out is to _train_ ) but he is in the water now and to get out immediately would be admitting defeat (to the universe, to the moon, to Haruno) and Uchiha Sasuke is, if nothing else, _stubborn_.

So he remains.

Haruno Seiko, however, swims closer. 

Sasuke is maddeningly hyper-aware of the push of the water as Haruno nears, the moonlight that highlights his form, the way pastel-pink hair is lavender and clings to his neck, kisses his clavicle where Sasuke has inadvertently memorized the spattering of freckles. 

He does not know what prompts him to mutter “Done already?” but the words are past his lips of their own accord.

Inwardly, he curses at the slip in control. It should not matter if Haruno is done or not done. Uchiha Sasuke is _not affected_ by anything or anyone especially not a puny shinobi with spring-green eyes and hanami-fucking-hair.

Sasuke closes his eyes, tips his head sky-ward because he _cannot handle seeing Haruno Seiko drenched, water dripping down his face, down his throat, refuses to commit to memory the way his lashes tangle in the corners of his eyes or water beading on his lips—_

Haruno coughs. A lot.

Sasuke peers at him before he can stop himself. “Are you okay?” he asks, bemused (and if he were anyone else it might be misconstrued as teasing but Uchiha Sasuke does _not tease)._ He makes a move to slap Haruno’s back because the man is fucking _choking_ and really what kind of shinobi is he—?

“Fine!”

Sasuke’s brow lifts at the squeak and he obliterates the passing observation that it is _adorable_. “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he says instead, eyeing his subordinate who appears _wholly disturbed_ (though why Haruno might be uncomfortable is beyond him).

“No, no it’s fine. You didn’t. I—“

Dark eyes narrow on a piece of seaweed clinging to pale hair. He moves without thinking, as he often allows himself to do beneath the moon and myriad of stars that have always kept his secrets. 

“—was just getting out. You weren’t—aren’t—disturbing me—”

Sasuke is not even listening, does not even have half a mind to listen, because his fingers track through Haruno’s hair and pluck the offending plant.

Haruno shuts his eyes, stills.

Uchiha Sasuke revels in the quiet, takes in the image of the unremarkable chuunin haloed in moonlight and velvet water until Haruno opens his eyes again and suddenly vivid green is all Sasuke can see.

When he speaks, Sasuke frowns because Haruno’s voice is soft—a feather-like caress that makes his chest ache. And then Haruno clears his throat and dismisses himself, says goodnight.

Sasuke does not trail his exit, does not dare to watch the chuunin get out of the water.

Instead, he focuses on the seaweed caught between his fingers, frown deepening the furrow in his brow.

Only when he hears a tent flap close does he toss the seaweed into the waters with a splash. “The hell was I thinking?”

The same thought cycles through his mind even as the sun rises behind the cliff, even after he has left the water and lies on the docks, on his back in only his pants and the haunting remnants of his _idiotic_ moment beneath the silently judging moon. 

He greets the morning, allows the sun to dry his skin and singe away the _embarrassment_ that clings to him.

It is not often that Uchiha Sasuke acts on impulse. Somehow, Haruno Seiko gets under his skin, commands the blood in Uchiha veins.

Sasuke glares up at the infinite skies: _What the fuck is it about Haruno Seiko?_

The mystery? The play at innocence coupled with skill that goes beyond what the Uchiha squads are taught? The familiarity in Konoha-green eyes? Is it the softness of petal-pink hair and the temerity (insubordination) in his attitude?

_What is it?_

A shadow blocks his vision.

“Did you drown?”

“Shut up, Hatake,” the Uchiha grumbles, tossing an arm over his eyes in a show of dramatics he will never admit he is prone to displaying. “I’m meditating.” (Not even the moon would believe him.)

Slowly the camp rouses. Sasuke hears it in the occasional shift of canvas flaps, the sluggish footsteps of tired shinobi, the light clink of pots and pans as breakfast is started.

Kakashi snorts behind his mask, sits on the edge of the docks. “Hm. If I didn’t know any better, I’d guess that the esteemed General Uchiha is sulking.”

Sasuke makes a mental note to put his second-in-command on latrine duty. “I am not so esteemed yet,” he grouses, sitting up.

“So you are sulking,” Kakashi surmises, earning a withering glare from his superior. 

“You overstep,” Sasuke warns, unable to bring himself about to outright lie to someone he knows would see straight through it anyways. Hatake Kakakashi does not need the Sharingan to separate needles from haystacks. It is among his greatest qualities (as irritating as it may be).

An exhale that sounds suspiciously like a laugh muffles through the copy-nin’s mask, but Kakashi nods, visible eye focused across the lake. “Aa,” he says, “my apologies, Uchiha-sama.”

Sasuke’s frown deepens.

Kakashi stands then, makes a show of stretching. “Well, I’ll leave you to meditate.”  
  
  


Later on when Suigetsu asks him how his _meditation_ went, Sasuke smashes his subordinate’s face into his breakfast.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you guys have any training ideas, drop me a line ;) i have a few of my own but i’m always happy to get your input!
> 
> * please let me know if any of these are wrong:  
>  _scissors_ : under your pillow is said to be effective warding off the evil spirits and bad dreams  
>  _comb_ : breaking one brings bad luck  
>  _north_ : sleeping facing north is also bad luck as the dead are buried facing north  
>  _whistling_ : done at night, this attracts snakes


	3. Capture the what

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> should i wait for Agentxyz to finish beta-ing this properly? probably. *wheeze* guys i’m hitting a writing rut. probably because classes are running me ragged. still working on synergy 2, albeit slowly. chapter 3 is uh, 10% done *cough*
> 
> in other news, i’ve joined twitter! @bttrmllw. so uh. i post there—random snippets for prompts and previews and sneak peaks of whatever im currently working on, and occasionally terrible fanart~ 
> 
> ready? leggoooo

.

.

The first morning at their new locale begins in much a similar manner to the previous mornings: Haruno Sakura seated beside her closest comrade, pulling short locks up into a top-knot while the blond scarfs down his breakfast.

“Watch it, Naruto,” she mutters when his elbow nudges her. Green eyes peer askance at the human garbage disposal. It’s remarkable, really, the manner in which he all but inhales his portion. Sakura supposes she shouldn’t be surprised—of all the chuunin he is by far the one who expends the most chakra in a single day. She is constantly impressed by both his vast reserve and his utter lack of efficiency in using it.

Large blue eyes blink her way. “Oh, sorry Seiko!” Naruto exclaims around a mouthful of rice. He draws the back of his hand against his mouth, gives her that toothy grin of his. “I’m always starving when I wake up!”

“It’s no wonder,” Shikamaru drawls from across the bench. “You’re always too depleted by the end of the day.”

Naruto sniffs, wipes dirt from his nose. “Yeah, I give my all to training. Unlike you,” he snarks right back.

Shikamaru’s retort (which Sakura suspects would have included some words and turns of phrase that their blond compatriot would only pretend to understand) is cut short by their general.

Her eyes automatically find the Uchiha.

“Finish up.” His voice carries across the encampment, deeper than the Konoha forests. “Training starts in 10.”

Sakura tears her gaze away from him, scoffing as she wraps her knuckles. 

“You eat breakfast the same way you train,” Shikamaru grouses, dusting stray rice from his shoulder, “wastefully.”

Sakura curls her hand into a fist, testing the integrity of her work, before tugging a glove over it. A reprimand for the blond sits on her tongue, but foreign fingers in her hair stun her.

She tenses, not turning even as the hand— _she knows that hand, the shape of it, the callouses, the heat of it_ —removes a piece of rice from pastel strands.

“Perhaps,” the general declares, flicking the errant grain he plucks from her hair towards Naruto, “a better training for you would be to practice restraint.”

Naruto swats the rice mid-trajectory and waves the empty bowl their general’s way: “I could eat circles around you!”

Sakura risks a glance back at the man who manages to both don shadows and reflect the sun. It is unfair, she thinks, that he can cut such a stark contrast against the morning sky, his features more poignant and catastrophically beautiful than the vast cliff behind him. 

“I don’t doubt it,” Sasuke answers, somehow an insult rather than acknowledgement. He rests his hands on his hips and Sakura turns away. She can _feel_ her face flush at his proximity, _at the memory of the way water dripped down his angled cheek, the muscles in his neck, his sharp clavicle—_

“Seiko? Are you alright? You’re turning red,” Naruto observes, invading her space.

Sakura shoves the blond’s face away. “I’m fine, Naruto.”

“Haruno didn’t get much sleep last night,” Sasuke explains. “Did you?”

He stares at her profile. She can _feel it_. Would it be rude to ignore him? Probably. “I got a late night,” she affirms, inclining her head his way. “You were even later than me, no?”

Sasuke nods, a sharp motion that betrays nothing at all. “Aa.”

Only when he walks away does she allow herself to breathe again.

.

“In lieu of our usual training and as a reprieve from the days of marching, we will be playing a game,” Captain Hatake announces to the squad.

They are lined up on the designated training ground, the sun mercilessly beating down. Sakura feels its heat seep through the sleeves of her _juban_ , feels fire spread across protected skin. A bead of sweat trails from her temple down her cheek. 

The Konoha summer blazes, doing its best to divest her of her clothes and her secrets. 

“A game!” Kiba hollers down the assembly, pumping a fist into the air. “What game?”

The silver-haired jounin’s visible eye crinkles in a smile. “Capture the flag.”

“We will be splitting you into two factions,” General Uchiha cuts in, meandering down the line. Even in this endeavor he is stoic, serious. 

They called this a game but Sakura knows better. It is as serious of a training session as any other day, perhaps more.

“Shirts versus Skins.” Sasuke goes down the queue, assigning a team to each person, alternating between ‘shirts’ and ‘skins’.

Sakura counts the people ahead of her—at this rate she will be ‘skins’—and surreptitiously bends down to adjust the straps of her sandal. She bumps Shikamaru’s leg who glances at her, annoyed, before shifting over to trade places. She straightens in time for the general to pass her by:

“‘Skins’.”

She falters. “I’m sorry, what?”

Sasuke’s stare burns hotter than the high-noon sun. “You’re ‘skins’,” he says slowly, expectantly, eyes never leaving her face. He must see her hesitation because up goes a frustratingly aristocratic brow. “Is something the matter, Haruno?”

Sakura swears she detects a hint of suspicion in his tone and clears her throat. “I just—I counted down the line. I should be ‘shirts’.”

“Are you suggesting I made a mistake?”

“No, I—”

“Phew, sorry! I’m back!” says Lee as he jogs towards them from the treeline. He takes his vacated spot between Neji and Choji. “Which side am I on, Uchiha-sama?”

Sasuke glances back. “I skipped you. Go to the end of the line.”

Lee does as he is told with embarrassing exuberance.

When Lee joins the assembly, Sasuke turns his attention back to her. “You’re ‘skins’,” he reiterates, moving to continue down the assembly.

“Well, I...I have an embarrassing scar,” she begins, internally wincing at the _lame excuse_.

The general is not appeased if his blank stare is any indication. “No one here is going to be _looking_ at you.” 

Behind him Suigetsu coughs into a fist and Sasuke shoots him a withering glare.

Glancing back at Sakura, the Uchiha angles his head to the side. “You’re ‘skins’,” he repeats, tone leaving no room for argument.

Sakura opens her mouth in riposte—

“Don’t make Seiko do embarrassing stuff he doesn’t want to, bastard!” Naruto exclaims, pointing an accusing finger. “No one likes a bully!” With dramatic flair, the blond rips off his _juban_. “I’ll be ‘skins’ instead, ‘ttebayo!”

Sakura could _kiss him_.

A sound between a snort and a growl escapes the Uchiha but Sakura avoids his stare. “Fine,” he relents with unreadable impassivity before moving on.

.

There are two flags—one green for Shirts, one blue for Skins—hidden in the forest surrounding Uchiha Base 4.

“They’ve got Neji guarding their flag,” Shikamaru whispers from his perch on a branch.

Sakura nods her understanding, peering around the trunk. “So that means he’s got eyes in every direction. As long as we remain out of his range then we can formulate an attack.”

It is Lee who declares: “We need to distract him.”

“Lee,” Shikamaru says, “you are the quickest among us. You can hold your own against Neji.”

“I will try my best.”

“Haruno.”

Green eyes jump to the impromptu Shirts captain. 

“You’re the best at evasion,” he declares. “There are bound to be traps. I want you to scout ahead and disable as many of them as you can.”

Somewhere behind them, they hear Naruto’s battle cry and a series of explosions. There is no doubt that the obnoxious blond has barreled into Shirts territory and set off their traps. 

Sakura returns her attention to the genius and grins. “I’m on it.”

.

It is a good plan, really.

Nara Shikamaru knows the men on his team, knows their strengths and weaknesses and within minutes formulates the most effective strategy in coming out victorious in this endeavor.

There is a very significant factor that everyone overlooks however:

Uchiha Sasuke partaking in the competition.

Sakura skids backwards, arms crossed to block his strike. “How is this fair!” she exclaims, jumping away from their locked weapons. 

Sasuke straightens and Sakura determinedly keeps her eyes trained on his smug face. He tilts his head, forelocks grazing the length of his neck. “I never said we wouldn’t be participating.”

That means: “Suigetsu, Genma, and—”

“Yo.”

Sakura narrowly avoids the hand erupting through the earth beneath her feet. 

Kakashi shoots up, lands to Sasuke’s left. Both adopt admittedly careless postures, but the way their muscles flex beneath taut skin, the way eyes are hardened and bleed Sharingan red, betrays their intent.

“You have to learn how to accommodate changes in plans,” the captain instructs before flickering from view and appearing directly in front of her.

Mercifully, Suigetsu appears at her side as if from thin air and meets the silver-haired captain head-on. He flashes a fanged smile, every bit as lethal as his blade. “Hey, hey, hey Old Man. How’s it fair for you two to come up against Haruno here?”

Kakashi chuckles, the sound sharp despite his mask. “Have a soft spot for him, do you?”

Suigetsu manages a nonchalant shrug despite his sword braced against the Copy-Nin’s kunai. “Am I that obvious?” 

Sakura manages to hear Kakashi’s lofty _‘Not as obvious as others’_ before a fiery blaze drowns out his words. 

She leaps backwards, arches away from the conflagration. Her hand finds the ground and she pushes off, flipping into the trees.

Sasuke immediately gives chase.

.

They did not come up with a rendezvous point should things go awry.

Sakura curses internally, resolving to plan for such an eventuality in the future. Her team’s best chance is to lure Sasuke away from his flag to give her squad a fighting chance—

A kunai whizzes past her, embeds itself into a tree trunk. Light catches on the chakra wire attached to it and Sakura twists in time to see an orange flame swiftly approaching. She substitutes, allowing her clone to take the hit, and hides beneath the underbrush.

Sandals land in the clearing. Sakura observes.

Sasuke is frighteningly alert as he studies his surroundings. Frighteningly alert and distractingly shirtless. She frowns at the thought, swats it away like a gnat—that is the least of her problems. She’s a medic, she’s not shy around human anatomy. No, it’s just _Sasuke._ That fact alone is enough to undo her. There’s an intensity about him that threatens to devour her like kindling.

There is an intelligence, an unnerving awareness, in his stare, the swirl of red and black, darting across the canopy. He stands still, impossibly so, cut from marble and dappled in sunshine and shadow—a study of contrasts if Sakura has ever seen one.

An explosion from where they came draws her eyes up to the skies.

Sakura exhales, slow and steady, and twirls a kunai about her finger, catching the grip.

All she has to do is keep him busy, right?

She jumps out from her space as he turns away.

But he is Uchiha Sasuke and he dodges, meeting her blow for blow.

He has the Sharingan—he’s faster, there’s absolutely no doubt about that.

So then why does it seem that she can keep up? 

He blocks her assaults, of course he does, but she manages to deflect his. Their dance is lethal, aiming to kill, but no matter how close the edge of a blade comes, they never break skin. His palms are stifling as they catch her fist, grab her forearm. Staccato breaths fill the narrow space between them.

He jumps to avoid her kick and she smirks, tugs the wires attached to her fingers to release the shower of kunai she has released throughout their spar. 

Sasuke disappears in a puff of smoke as the barrage impales him.

He does not give her reprieve.

She hears the click of his blade being released from its sheath before she senses him, automatically twirls out of range. Her body reacts on its own, muscle-memory doing its job. Years of practice with her mentor overrides days spent with Division 47. 

If Sasuke is surprised at her evasion, he does not show it, only pressing her backbackback—

There’s ferocity in his expression, a desperate sort of hysteria that Sakura has only a moment to marvel at before he blinks it away.

Sakura coats her hands in chakra, grabs his katana, and yanks.

She smashes her forehead into his—the metal plates from their hitai-ate clink—and his head bounces back at the impact.

A swear leaves his mouth; she bites back a delirious laugh.

Thus marks the shift from a spar into something more.

Something is growing here Sakura can’t help but think as she sweeps beneath his next attack. Something demanding to be recognized, something commanding attention. She doesn’t know how to define it and, judging from the frustrated glare in the general’s eyes, neither does he. But the severity in his face tells her he sees it too— _feels it_ , too.

He buries the tip of his sword in the ground, braces himself on the hilt and swings his feet to kick her temple.

Sakura catches his foot, tugs and flips up into the air, intent on bringing her force down on top of him.

Sasuke’s sword loosens from its hold in the dirt. His balance shifts, so does hers, and they land in a heap on the forest floor.

Sakura straddles his hips, hands braced on his bare shoulders.

Sasuke stares.

Breaths, harsh and heated, fan over skin slick with sweat. Ash and salt and pine fill their senses.

Something is growing here and Sakura knows she is helpless to stop it. It is a force that shatters through the divide between them, bringing any and all defenses to rubble at their feet. She is not sure _why or how_ , all that matters is that it _exists._

The distinct sound of a flare cuts through the tension.

Sakura blinks, glances up to see remnants of green: the signal for a Shirts victory.

Sasuke shifts beneath her. “Haruno.”

She looks back down at him. 

His stare is set on the trees to their right, hidden behind dark forelocks. Even so, Sakura can see the strain in the tautness of his muscles, the tension in his neck. He’s holding his breath.

“You’re heavy,” he rasps.

Sakura quickly scrambles to her feet.

When she goes to bed that night, she _does not think_ about the scroll or kunai or what-have-you that _must_ have been in his pocket.

And Uchiha Sasuke? He determines that Haruno Seiko is a mystery everlastingly impenetrable, a mystery that he has made it his personal mission to uncover.

.

.


End file.
